


Miracles Happen

by Yalu



Series: Immortal Men [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Immortal!Ianto, M/M, Smut, post-Miracle Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: Ianto lives. And lives, and lives.





	Miracles Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I lied: There's some angst in this fic, BUT IT GETS BETTER FAST.
> 
> End of last scene slightly edited because wow does the writing get better when I pull back on the schmoop.

 

 

The funeral was lovely; peaceful, dignified, lots of sunlight filling the breezy room with its tall arches and soft dark pink walls, and a dozen CIA agents with surprisingly nice voices. Esther would have loved it.

Only, her shoes _really_ pinched.

Rex's photo smiled down at them from the altar, and Esther couldn't meet his eyes. Her shoes pinched and she was wriggling in her seat and she couldn't get her mind off the phone in her handbag; Rex's phone, hooked up to Ianto's tablet and all of Torchwood's decryption programmes pounding away at it. Jack had bet her fifty pounds that they'd break down CIA's firewalls in an hour. She'd put fifty dollars on CIA's tech beating theirs any day, and it looked like she was going to win. Unfortunately.

She looked up at Rex again, offered an apologetic smile, and focused back on the eulogy. He wouldn't to be sent off with his last case unsolved. He'd understand.

 

"I'm just saying, if we'd had all our tech, we could have tracked down the Families a lot sooner."

Gwen sighed and resisted the urge to walk faster. "Oh Jack, let it go."

"They _blew up_ my _Hub_. Just to draw me out! I'm not letting go of that any time soon." Jack stalked down the corridor of the funeral home a bit more dramatically than necessary, but so what? It was fun. Esther and Ianto were busy with their tech and ignoring him, but he was annoying Rhys, so that was a plus.

"Hush, Martha says the excavation is going fine," said Gwen. "Almost everything on the lowest five levels survived and soon as they have the rest cleared we can start to rebuild."

"Aye, and maybe then my living room won't look like a warehouse, will it?" Rhys complained. "Stacks of sealed boxes head high and we're still expected to live there. It's bloody ridiculous! What kind of environment is that for a baby?"

"A Torchwood baby."

"Don't you start," said Rhys, but he wasn't as angry as he could've been. Shame. 

"Hmm, surrounded by alien artefacts, a hundred years of Torchwood history..." Jack pretended to think hard. "Should be harmless. Why would she be curious about all that?"

It was building up to a beautiful explosion of Welsh rage when Esther exclaimed "Got it!" and ruined the mood. Gwen looked relieved.

"Got what?" she asked.

Ianto smiled smugly. "Tosh's hacking programmes: One. CIA firewalls: Naught." He turned round his tablet as the rest of them slowed to a stop around him and Esther. "We got in."

"So what's so important on Rex's phone again?" asked Rhys.

"Rex's phone, but Noah's software," explained Esther– then glanced up at blank faces. "Co-worker, died in a bombing." She fixed her eyes back on the screen. "He was tracing a leak in our team, probably the same person who set the bomb and... if we can just trace the last number it'll connect to a name... and..." 

Her face fell. Not in the funny way, in the devastated way. She looked up, down the mausoleum corridor to the neatly coiled hair and suit that had stopped just within earshot. "Charlotte?"

The woman turned– _gun!_ – Jack lunged – she fired.

Esther was halfway through dropping to the floor and got hit in the shoulder. Ianto, right behind her, had been busy frowning at his tablet and took two in the heart. He staggered, red blooming on his white shirt, and stumbled back into Rhys. 

Jack's world stopped. 

Faintly, he heard more shots as other CIA agents took Charlotte down. Through the corner of his eye he saw Gwen easing Esther to the floor and putting pressure on the wound, blood all over them, nothing fatal. 

But Ianto...

Jack shoved Rhys away and grabbed Ianto, cradled him, sliding to his knees and tucking him against his chest. "No, no no–" He kissed him, hard and fast, praying that sizzling flow of life would share itself, would be able to heal... But it stayed cold and still. Nothing. Too much damage.

Ianto's eyes were wide and he'd gone bone white, was trying not to wince. "Jack," he said– then cringed. "Ah. Rather hurts– to breathe."

"Ianto, stay with me," Jack commanded. "Stay..." His thighs were getting warm– wet– blood– "Stay with me!"

Ianto was breathing hard, forcing it steady. "I had a thought about that. Guess we'll see."

"What?" Gwen was looking frantically between them, Esther's still blood on her hands as some CIA men took over trying to save her. "What, what's he mean? Ianto–?"

"Jack." Ianto was staring up at him, pale eyes wide and trying so hard not to be scared. "Jack, you probably know," he said weakly, "but I lo..."

And he was gone. Silent. Still. Still staring blankly up.

Jack stopped breathing. Blinked. His eyeballs burned. Beside him he vaguely heard Gwen wail.

...No. Not Ianto, not _now_. Not ever but not _now_ , they'd barely had a few years together, too few, always too few, _not now_. Not Ianto, not Ianto, not _Ianto_...

_I love you._

Jack had never said it. He'd stopped saying it a long time ago, after Angelo and Estelle, before Lucia. He should have, _should have_ , Ianto needed to hear these things said out loud sometimes... Had needed.

Oh God. 

Jack knelt there, frozen, torn between wanting to run far far _far_ away and wanting to cling to his body till the sun exploded.

Esther had been moved, alive or dead, leaving just a smear of blood on the tiles under Gwen's knees as she sobbed in Rhys' arms. Jack barely noticed. Everything was a fog until a hand touched his shoulder; Rhys, tugging, trying to move him away, trying to be _kind_ –

Jack snarled and ripped free, turning his back on them and tucking Ianto into his chest, curling around him, tears he hadn't noticed dripping off his cheeks and into his hair, and there was nothing. No breath, no pulse. No quiet thrum of _life_ humming through–

Ianto gasped and sat upright, and Jack fell back on his arse in shock. "What?"

"What?"

" _What the hell?_ "

Ianto blinked around at their faces and looked down at his chest, at the bloody holes in his shirt. He tugged hard on buttons and underneath, the two bullet holes vanished before their eyes; smoothed out into fresh skin without so much as a trace. Familiar. So familiar Jack's lungs seized up. "That's impossible," he breathed – and he'd never wished that on anyone, it was awful, they had no idea– He'd never, it was selfish, he was selfish and right now he was hoping so bad it _hurt_.

"I had wondered," mused Ianto, dazed, wiping blood off his chest. With shaky fingers he tugged up his sleeve and peeled off the bandage that had been on his wrist since Buenos Aires. No bloodstains; it hadn't been needed even when he put it on. "Things have been healing remarkably fast. I assumed the transfusion would have side effects, but–"

Jack kissed him. Climbed half into his lap and kissed him, clutching him and just this side of sobbing. The sharp sizzle exploded, flowing through them, flowing _both_ ways, and Ianto clung on just as tight. He was trembling – shock. It was always a shock, coming back; you never quite believed it until it happened – and the little noises he made were as much panic as pleasure. Jack tasted salt. He stroked his face with both thumbs and felt the warm thud of a pulse under his fingertips and, slowly, Ianto's breathing evened out.

Someone coughed politely. Rhys. _Go to hell_ , Jack thought. Nearby Gwen was crying and laughing at the same time, a beautiful sound and nothing compared to the thud of Ianto's heartbeat. There were footsteps; heavy tread, CIA. _Fuck off_.

"This is _funeral home_ ," hissed someone American.

"Then let them be happy to be alive," Gwen snapped. "Go on, you've got your mole. Leave us be."

But Ianto had heard them and he backed away, leaving a cold rush of air on Jack's lips as he went. His face was flushed, breathing loud – Jack could hear him even as he moved away. Best sound ever. 

Gwen, kneeling beside them, was beaming fit to burst and flung her arms tight around Ianto's neck. "God, I can't _believe_ it."

Ianto grinned into her shoulder. "Neither can I." He shuddered and kept the smile fixed as Gwen pulled back.

"Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"I promise," he said fervently. He shook himself, looked sick. "God, Jack, how do you stand it?"

Jack was getting to his feet and offered a hand to pull them up. "I don't. And you won't either so..." _don't make me go through that again, not ever_ "...act like you're still mortal, okay?" 

Ianto took his hand and didn't let go, even once they were standing nose to nose, eye to eye. "Gladly," he said. His breath was warm on Jack's nose.

Rhys rubbed his neck and pointedly coughed again. Jack rolled his eyes. 

Police tape was being unrolled on either side of them and small crowds had gathered just beyond; people from Rex's funeral or waiting for the next one. Charlotte was gone, probably arrested, but– "Where's Esther?" asked Ianto.

"She'll be all right, they said, they're taking her to the hospital," Gwen assured him, patting his shoulder protectively. Jack slid his arm under hers and tugged Ianto close, feeling the movement of muscle under cloth as he led them towards the door. Not stiff, not cold. Alive. Alive and immortal, a fixed point in time, and finally, _finally_ not alone.

Jack composed himself. "Let's get you back to the hotel," he said, voice thick. "Check you over."

He listened to Ianto's breathing the entire way.

 

There was something Ianto had realised, once when he was contentedly thinking through his long list of Epic Fucks by Jack Harkness. Whenever Jack had recently died, he went for sex – right after food. He always woke hungry, he'd said, never starved but always peckish, and whatever his first meal was after reviving, he'd eat it with eyes half closed, savouring the taste. Ianto had taken to quietly ordering his favourite takeout soon as he heard, and sure enough, halfway through the cab ride to their hotel Ianto had found himself craving– well, anything. The rubbish they served at the nearest drive-through tasted so much better than he remembered.

Jack tasted better than he remembered.

Over plastic cartons on the Hub's boardroom table, Jack would devour whatever meal they had and finish by licking whatever sauce or crumbs remained off his fingers. Slowly. Not watching Ianto, knowing Ianto was watching him. On any other day, foreplay with food meant ropes and bites and bruises, and Ianto was more than a little disappointed the first time that didn't happen.

Because those were the times Jack was most quiet, most passive. He would lie back and lose himself in whatever Ianto did to him, happy with anything as long as there was touch enough to drown in. He leaned into every caress, breathed in deep Ianto's neck and hair, stared up as he moved and licked every inch of skin: touch, smell, sight, taste. 

So when they got back to the hotel, Jack hovering inches away through the entire ride, Ianto expected the same, looked forward to it. Death was cold and hollow and no amount of sunlight on his face was warm enough right now. He traced Jack's palm in the cab, stroking his fingers lightly over the skin of his wrist, tickling touches making gentle sparks.

He wasn't expecting Jack to crush him against the back of their door the second it closed, to kiss him so hard their teeth knocked or bite his lip till he gasped. 

He wasn't expecting Jack to sit him on the edge of the bed, trousers and pants yanked down to his ankles, and lick his cock till he moaned. 

He wasn't expecting Jack to dig his fingers into his hips with stinging nails till he hissed.

He wasn't expecting Jack to deep throat him _twice_ before even taking off his greatcoat, or to kiss and suck his way up to Ianto's sternum, or scrape his teeth over nipples or bite dents into his skin until everything, everything from a hard roll into the headboard to the skitter of fingers on flesh made him cry out.

He wasn't expecting to _need_ that. Death had left an icy hole in him that had to be stamped out, so he pulled Jack in and pushed him down and dragged him close for kisses that sizzled on their tongues. Ianto panted, holding out as long as he could before needing more again, diving in until neither of them could breathe, but the cold dark space was still _there_.

Jack was clinging to him, murmuring apologies and whispers too rough to make out, warm skin and breath and the sun inside him, and Ianto pulled him down again, hooked his ankles around Jack's hips and whispered _Make me scream_.

He did.

Ianto lay back and lost himself in the warmth of skin slick on skin, the heat of their kisses, the burn of Jack's cock. He gasped and clawed at Jack's back, nails breaking skin as he held on and thrust back, Jack's hair in his face and Jack's scent filling his nose and Jack's cock filling him up, hissing and telling begging ordering him to go faster and harder and faster and _harder_ , faster harder _harder faster now Jack harder_ –

And after Jack had fucked him hoarse and boneless, after the trail of bites and bruises vanished from their bodies and the heat _finally_ soaked through his chest, warm and flesh and whole, Ianto sighed, settled back into the pillow, and smiled.

In the quiet, he listened to their breathing, the wet sound of Jack sliding out of him and the creak of the mattress as Jack crawled up and curled against him, resting a cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and stroking fingertips over unbroken skin. He listened too, carding his fingers through Jack's hair. "I'm alive, Jack," he said softly, awed. "I'm alive."

"Yeah," Jack said softly, nose pressed into his sternum. "And you're going to live long enough to regret it." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Ianto."

Ianto's fingers slowed, some of the warmth slipping away. He shook his head and began stroking Jack's hair again. "I'm not."

Grimacing, Jack pushed himself up and looked Ianto hard in the eye, just _just_ not touching anymore. The half inch of space felt huge. "You're going to lose everyone," he said harshly. " _Everyone_ around you will grow old and die, and that's if they're lucky. And when they're gone you'll make new friends, and lose them too, and fall in love and lose them too and have _kids_ and lose them too and it's _never_ going to stop hurting."

Ianto looked back steadily. "I know." 

He'd thought about it; of course he'd thought about it. Couldn't not daydream, not in this job, not with this man, and of course he'd considered the consequences. Rhiannon, David, Mica. Gwen, Rhys, baby Anwen. Martha. The few friends he still had from school. Not a long list, but... Yes, it would hurt. He knew that. 

Jack's eyes softened. "But do you?"

Tosh. Owen. Lisa. 

_Lisa._

He looked away. Jack let out a heavy breath and settled back down on his side, tugged him closer, and the slight stick of cooling skin was comforting in a way nothing else was; Ianto leaned into it. Jack kissed his forehead. "Don't get me wrong," he said quietly. "I'm _so glad_ you're not dead, I'd have given anything–" He bit off the words. "You're going to hate it eventually, and I don't want you to hate me for it."

 _I'd never hate you_ was on the tip of his tongue, but Ianto held it back. Jack wouldn't believe him. He propped himself up and looked Jack in the eye, reached out to skim light fingers over his mouth. "I know I'll never understand exactly what you've been through until I've been through the same," he said instead. "And I know it's going to be terrible sometimes, but it won't be the same for me. I'll always have you."

Then he froze, thoughts racing through all the assumptions implicit in that. "I mean, well, if you want to stay. Forever's a long time. But as long as you're on Earth you won't have to be alone eithe–"

Jack shoved himself up and rolled over onto Ianto, a heavy weight on his middle and elbows by his ears, cradling his face and tangling the sheet between them. "I'm not going anywhere," he said fiercely. "I'm going to stay here and kiss you till they kick us out for disturbing the peace. I'm going to take us back to Cardiff and rebuild the Hub and Torchwood, and we're going to watch Anwen and Stephen grow up and make every day with Gwen count. And I don't know how long the Rift will be here or the Earth will need us but I'm not going anywhere, Ianto Jones. You're stuck with me."

He added a saucy grin and waggled his eyebrows, trying for his usual charm, but something in it was fragile, and faded fast. His eyes dropped and he swallowed, and traced his fingers down the sides of Ianto's face, just looking at him. Very deliberately, he said, "I love you."

There... just weren't words to describe how it felt to hear that. Air tripped and stumbled in Ianto's lungs, tangling with his speeding heartbeat and landing in in his throat. He drew in as deep a breath as he could, managed a jerking nod. "Yeah? Ah. Good. Hate to be the only one."

A smile broke over Jack's face, soft and delicate, and he nodded, fast like a hummingbird, blinking hard and suddenly diving in for a kiss that was sweet and gentle and held them together with more finality than any sex they'd ever had.

God, he really did mean it.

Ianto's hands slid up round his neck, feather light and skimming down his back. A tiny nudge and he rolled them over, their lips sliding away and back together seamlessly, barely aware of the parting. Jack smoothed a palm over his shoulder and the other curved down his arse, along his thigh, and rested there, waiting as he kissed up languidly, smiled as Ianto took care to kiss every inch of skin down his throat and listen to his heartbeat, drink in every detail and idly trace patterns on his chest. They _had time_.

 

(They weren't kicked out. They did disturb the peace. A lot.)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ~12 hours this had a different ending, but it kept _bothering_ me till I realised that I basically overreacted to trying to fix _Miracle Day_ by making everything go way too fast and forced it into the fairytale idea of a happy ending when that really doesn't suit these two, and wasn't what they needed at this point; a symbolic promise of forever means a lot less when it's actual forever they're dealing with. So this is the ending I'm happy with, but for all of you who read the first one, it's attached as a cut scene in the next chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> For ~12 hours this had a different ending, a complete schmoopy fairytale and was what my wailing inner shipper needed but wasn't in character or right for them at this point in their lives. Afterall, now they've got all the time in the universe...


End file.
